A drunk gets on a bus, reeking of booze. He sits down next to Young Pope and opens a newspaper. After a moment, he asks the Young Pope a question:

“Young Pope, what causes arthritis?”

The Young Pope looks down his nose at the drunken slob. He pulls a long drag on his cigarette before he answers.

“My son, arthritis is caused by drinking too much, by partying too hard, and by rejecting the man in all his forms.”

“Oh,” says the drunk.

They ride in silence for a moment before the drunk says “By the way, I don’t have arthritis. But I was just reading here that the Young Pope does.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” the Young Pope replies before flicking his cigarette directly into the drunk’s face.

- - -

The Young Pope arrives in Heaven. At the Pearly Gates, he is approached by St. Peter.

“I’m sorry, Young Pope,” says St. Peter. “We can’t allow you into Heaven. You have lived too loosely. You have drank too much, partied too hard, and flipped the bird at too many elementary school crossing guards. You cannot enter these gates.”

The Young Pope stares at St. Peter for a moment before removing the cigarette from his mouth.

“I’m not asking, old man. I’m telling.”

With a snap of his fingers, the Young Pope summons a motley crew of bikers, revving their Harleys and careening over the clouds of heaven. The frightened St. Peter ducks back behind his podium and cowers in fear as the bikers crash through the Pearly Gates. The Young Pope slowly walks in behind them.

“You’ll get yours, Young Pope! You’ll get yours!” shouts St. Peter, angrily shaking his fist.

The Young Pope takes a final drag on his cigarette before flicking it over his shoulder and directly into St. Peter’s face.